But patience!all will yet be well;for I assure you,my dear friend,you were right;since I have been obliged to associate continually with other people,and observe what they do,and how they employ themselves,I have become far better satisfied with myself. For we are so constituted by nature,that we are ever prone to compare ourselves with others;and our happiness or misery depends very much on the objects and persons around us. On this account,nothing is more dangerous than solitude: there our imagination,always disposed to rise,taking a new flight on the wings of fancy,pictures to us a chain of beings of whom we seem the most inferior. All things appear greater than they really are,and all seem superior to us. This operation of the mind is quite natural:we so continually feel our own imperfections,and fancy we perceive in others the qualities we do not possess,attributing to them also all that we enjoy ourselves,that by this process we form the idea of a perfect,happy man,—a man,however,who only exists in our own imagination.
But when,in spite of weakness and disappointments,we set to work in earnest,and persevere steadily,we often find,that,though obliged continually to tack,we make more way than others who have the assistance of wind and tide;and,in truth,there can be no greater satisfaction than to keep pace with others or outstrip them in the race.
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